


Hey There Bright Eyes

by pornbot2k16 (orphan_account)



Series: kinktober [9]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Gen, Werewolves, good guy Jon, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/pornbot2k16
Summary: Jon buys Brendon, and that's literally it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober day twelve! Prompt- master/slave. This one’s an hour late, but the last one was like twenty hours late, so really this is an improvement. 
> 
> "But Edgar, this isn't exactly master/slave kink...."   
> Yes. Yes, I know. But I am really not down with that kink, or lifestyle, or whatever. I have a really in depth lecture about how it's not healthy to give entire control of your life to another person, and blah, blah, blah. But basically I don't want to write sex slaves, and I don't wanna think about sex slaves, so yeah. 
> 
> "Edgar, this isn't even porn!"   
> Yeahhhhhh.... turns out I'm kinky enough to be in a fetish club, but not kinky enough to write porn for everything on this list. Sue me.

Jon glanced in the rearview mirror at the boy in his backseat, shrinking back against the window as far as he could go, curling in tight on himself, sitting on his hands.  His eyes were so big, with dark bruises hanging out underneath them.  His hair was greasy and tangled, which was strange.  Normally they made the merchandise look as good as possible, but they had been pretty reluctant to let Jon take a look at this one.  He must have been trouble if they’d given up on selling him. 

 

And now trouble was sitting in Jon’s backseat.  What had he gotten himself into?

 

He didn’t know what he was doing, but if he wanted it to go well, he had to stop thinking of this boy as a problem.  He glanced at the road, and then back in the mirror. 

 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said, which was a dumb thing to say.  This boy was probably afraid of everyone he came into contact with.  His paperwork said twenty-one, but they lied on that stuff all the time.  Who knew how old the boy actually was, or how long they’d had him, or how he’d gotten there. 

 

Slaves were put up for several reasons- to be housekeepers, to be butlers, to be sex slaves.  Jon stayed away from the rings whenever he could, but today he’d been unlucky, and after seeing a man dragging this kid around with a leather strap wrapped around his neck, he couldn’t just walk away.  

 

And now he had a piece of paper in his back pocket that read, “Jonathan Walker, legal owner and guardian of Brandon Urie: wolf.”

 

“So your name’s Brandon, huh?” Jon asked, trying to make conversation.  

 

“It’s Brendon,” came a quiet voice in the back.  “They… they spelled my name wrong on my paperwork, and they. They didn’t care enough to fix it, so.” 

 

Jon nodded.  “Brendon.  Okay.” 

 

Jon fiddled with the radio while he drove, squinting out at the too bright sky, where white snow was fluttering around them in large puffs, brisk in the Chicago winter air.  Brendon was shivering, Jon noticed, and he turned the heat up a little higher, even though he himself was almost sweating. 

 

“How old are you, Brendon?” Jon asked.  Brendon caught his eyes in the mirror and glared, taking a long moment before answering. 

 

“Nineteen….” At least he was legal, then.  Just a kid, but legal. 

 

“I’m twenty-two,” Jon told him.  

 

“Where are you taking me?” Brendon’s voice sounded damn near frantic, and his eyes were scared.  He shook his hair, so that his overgrown fringe fell and covered them. 

 

“Home,” Jon said.  “I, um… still live with my parents.  So we’re going there.” 

 

Brendon stared for a moment, looking confused, and blinked a few times.  “Um…”

 

“Look, you’re not my slave, okay?” Jon said.  He felt like it needed to be said, even if Brendon wouldn’t believe him for a long time.  “I just… didn’t want to leave you there.  Okay?”

  
Brendon didn’t say anything for a long time.  He slouched down in his seat, seeming to relax a bit, and wrapped his arms around himself.  He kept his gaze out the window, but after a short while, when they were just about to Jon’s parent’s house, he could have sworn he heard Brendon whisper “...thank you….” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Lemni. Ask and you shall receive, my friend. This election is a nightmare, but Jon being a sweetheart can help that. 
> 
> So, um. It's just sort of drabbles. I don't really have anything planned out for this, I just like writing in the universe, so this is just Jon and Brendon getting to know each other in a way, but not really. I'd write more, but it's nearly one a.m. and I've run out of ideas for now. It's unedited, because that's just the way I roll. If there's any errors you wanna point out to me, feel free. Love the help.

“What in the hell did you do?” 

 

Jon stood in the doorway, shoulders back and head up, Brendon peering curiously over his shoulder.  

 

“Seriously, Jon.  That’s fuckin’ sick.  What the hell, man?”  Logan snapped, standing up and stepping closer.  Jon had to lift his chin to look up at his older brother.  Brendon shrunk back against the wall. 

 

“It’s not what you think,” Jon said. 

 

“Well I should certainly hope not.”  Mr. Walker appeared in the doorway, and all three young men turned to look at him.  Jon watched Brendon curl even closer in on himself in his peripheral vision, even though Mr. Walker was probably the least intimidating man anyone could lay eyes on.  He was small in stature, much like Jon himself, but also thin.  He had a bookish look about him, and wire glasses.  His appearance suggested that you could find him wandering around with a crossword and a half-full cup of coffee on any given Sunday, which you certainly could.  Crosswords were the most exciting part of Mr. Walker’s day.  He was soft spoken, and slight, but he’d raised three boys and had the power to move mountains if he needed to. 

 

Brendon didn’t know that, though.  Then again, Brendon was scared of everyone.  Jon could only wonder what sorts of danger Brendon saw in the man’s thinning grey hair and sweater vest.  The ancient, ratty slippers on his feet.  Wrinkle hidden eyes behind thick glasses. 

 

“Don’t be rude, Jon.  Invite your friend inside,” his father said.  Jon nodded and immediately stepped to the side, allowing Brendon to come in properly.  Brendon didn’t budge; his eyes only widened and breath quickened, anxiety taking over. 

 

“Would you like something to drink?” Jon offered.  “Something to eat?”  The kid was thin, frail even.  His body looked hunger pained, and his face looked terrified.  Wide, bruised eyes.  Greasy hair.  A slight twitch to his every movement.  Whoever had owned him before hadn’t been kind to him. 

 

“No sir,” Brendon answered immediately.  Jon grimaced.  His brother made a face, something mocking with his arms crossed and his chin tilted up.  Jon didn’t want to hear it. 

 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Jon said.  “Any of us.  Okay?  No ‘sirs.’” 

 

Brendon narrowed his eyes a bit and regarded Jon with a head tilt.  “Do you prefer ‘master?’”  

 

Logan, as if a testament to the argument he wanted to make, threw his arms in the air and stalked out of the room.  Brendon’s face switched instantly to panic. 

 

“I’m sorry!” he gasped.  “I’m sorry!  Please, don’t be angry!  I didn’t mean to-” 

 

“It’s okay,” Jon said, reaching out a hand to soothe him, but as soon as he made contact with Brendon’s arm, the kid jolted back as if struck.  His back hit the wall, shaking it, and a picture frame fell to the floor.  It cracked.  Brendon looked close to tears.  

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, shrinking in so far that his knees buckled, legs curling under him as he sunk to the floor.  “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry….” 

 

Jon looked between the boy on the floor - _ his _ boy on the floor- and his father in the doorway.  He mouthed the word ‘Go,’ to his dad, who nodded with a sympathetic look that suggested a talk later, and left.  Jon didn’t know what to do, or how to get Brendon to calm down, so he sunk down to the floor next to him and minded his space.  He kept two feet between them, so Brendon wouldn’t feel crowded, and folded his legs up pretzel style.  He leaned back against the wall and decided to wait.  Whatever Brendon needed right then, Jon couldn’t give it to him, so he just sat back anxiously and hoped he came around. 

  
  
  


…

  
  
  


“Okay, so you can sleep here,” Jon said, pushing open his bedroom door and holding his arm out to indicate his bed tucked against the wall.  Jon had the same bed since he was three years old, but he’d luckily never gotten tall enough to outgrow it entirely.  When he moved out on his own -which he would, in the Spring, just as soon as he finished college- he’d have a decent sized bed.  Something he could actually stretch out on.  For now, the twin would suffice, and for now, it was Brendon’s.  

 

Brendon eyed it skeptically.  “I… what?” he asked.  

 

Jon cracked his knuckles idly and shrugged.  “Grand tour!” he decided.  “This is my room, or… our room now, I guess.  We can clean out a space for you tomorrow, but it’s pretty late right now, so…  Um.  Okay.  That’s the dresser, and your bed, and the closet right there.  There’s books on the shelves that you can read, and you can use my computer if you want to.  Just, um.  Let me clear the history first.  The bathroom is down the hall, I’ll show you that, and you’ve already seen downstairs, so….”  

 

Jon’s room was small.  There wasn’t much to explain.  Still, Brendon was reeling.  He tiptoed into the center of the room and looked around, running his fingertips over a shelf before catching himself and pulling back, throwing a nervous glance at Jon before tucking his hands in close to himself.  He regarded the bed, not touching it, and then frowned at the air mattress Jon had set up on the floor. 

 

“What’s that?” he asked.  Jon shrugged again. 

 

“My bed for now.  Dad helped me dig the air mattress out of the garage, so.” 

 

“You’re sleeping on the floor?” Brendon asked, looking upset.  Jon raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Yes….?”

 

Brendon shook his head immediately.  “No.  I’m not taking your bed.” 

 

“I don’t mind, really.” 

 

“No, please.  It’s yours.  I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

 

“Brendon, just take the bed, it’s fine-”

 

“It’s not proper!” Brendon suddenly shouted, voice loud and ringing.  Jon flinched back, and Brendon’s eyes widened again in panic.  His bottom lip shook as he stepped back away from Jon and pressed his hand over his mouth.  Jon didn’t know how to respond to that.  There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to say any of them without them coming off wrong and startling Brendon.  

 

Brendon already looked pretty startled.  Jon opened his mouth to speak, and Brendon fell to his knees, which shut Jon up pretty quickly. 

 

“Brend-” 

 

“It’s not proper,” Brendon whispered.  “You’re the master, and I… I can’t.” 

 

Jon tossed his head back and sighed.  “Please stop saying that,” he murmured, then went over to Brendon and kneeled down in front of him.  Brendon looked startled, and confused, and Jon felt pretty confused as well.  He didn’t know what he was doing.  He’d never owned a slave, or interacted with one, or known anyone personally who owned one.  Yet here he was, having just bought a human, and according to Brendon he was doing everything absolutely wrong. 

 

But if being a decent human being was wrong, then Jon didn’t want to be right. 

 

“Look,” Jon said, reaching out and taking Brendon’s hands in his own, grinning when the kid didn’t recoil.  “I’m not anyone’s master, and I’m not yours, okay?  My name is Jonathan Jacob Walker, I’m a college student with a shitty minimum wage job and a lot of student loans.  I have a middle class family and am getting a degree in photography, and there is absolutely nothing that makes me better than anyone else in the world, okay?  Even if there was, that wouldn’t give me the right to boss you around.  So if you want me to, you’re kind of out of luck, because I don’t know how to do the master thing.  You’re not ‘mine,’ just my friend, if you want to be.  Okay?” 

 

Brendon stared at Jon through his entire speech, but he didn’t say anything when Jon finished.  He glanced down at their clasped hands and nodded, ever so subtly.  

 

“Okay,” he whispered.  

 

“I’m sorry this is all so confusing.  I’ve never really, um, done this before.” 

 

“Usually when you’re traded, your master presents you with a list of rules before you’re allowed out of sight,” Brendon said.  A list of rules.  God.  Jon wrinkled his nose up and tried to think.

 

“Not your master,” he repeated again, to drive the message in.  “Nobody in this house is.  I mean, my parents are in charge, but we’re all adults, so it’s fairly relaxed.  But um, okay, try not to break anything.  Clean up after yourself.  Just make yourself at home, for the most part.” 

 

“Home?” Brendon asked, frowning.

 

“Oh!  And no wrestling in the living room.  Logan and I broke this really old lamp once, and mom had our hides for that one.” 

 

“Wrestling?” Brendon asked.

 

“You’ll see,” Jon said.  “Just relax.” 

 

The look that passed over Brendon’s face could have stopped a  bird in the air.  It was a simple, concrete, ‘are you kidding me?’  Jon cracked a grin. 

 

“You’ll see,” he said again, and then heard his mother’s voice calling from the kitchen downstairs.  “Let’s get you into some better clothes, and then head down for dinner?  Are you hungry?” 

 

Brendon hesitated for a long while before nodding, as if he’d been contemplating if he was allowed to say ‘yes.’  Jon knew there were assholes out there, and judging by Brendon’s behavior, the boy had dealt with a lot of them.  People who offered him a bed, then called him ungrateful when he accepted.  People who asked if he was hungry, and then mocked him and let him starve when he said yes.  Jon didn’t actually know much about slave masters, but he’d heard urban legends like every other kid had growing up.  His eldest brother had done a lot with a liberation organization when he was in college, so Jon had gotten to hear all about that.  No one in Jon’s family approved of the slave rings, but now Jon had bought a person.  He’d really gotten himself into trouble this time. 

  
  


…

  
  


“So you’re an animorph,” Jon said, coming into his bedroom and throwing his bookbag onto the floor.  He’d skipped his classes for several days after buying Brendon, paranoid to leave the kid alone by himself.  Jon’s clothes fit him well enough, but they were a bit loose on his tiny frame, so he’d picked up some pants that he hoped would fit on the way home.  He’d take Brendon out properly one of these days, but he wasn’t sure they were there yet.  He wasn’t sure how they would manage it. 

 

He couldn’t take Brendon out without exhibiting some sort of protocal.  The vibrant pink scar -branded into his skin God knows how long ago- showed his status as a slave.  If Jon didn’t have him collared it could lead to trouble for both of them, but he wasn’t really ready to bring up the ‘collar’ conversation with Brendon. 

 

As soon as Jon entered the room, Brendon sprung to his feet, an old habit.  He’d been lying on the bed, and the book he’d been reading was still open.  Jon waved his hand at Brendon, hoping it would make him sit down.  It didn’t.  Jon sighed and flopped down on his air mattress, which was deflating a bit. 

 

“Wolf, right?”  Jon asked.  “That’s what it said on your paperwork.” 

 

Brendon shifted from foot to foot and nodded.  

 

“Can I see?” Jon asked.  He’d never seen someone shift, and he was curious.  He’d seen slaves in public sporting features, and occasional full animal forms, but he wanted to see it for himself.  He wanted to see that part of Brendon. 

 

“I’m not very good,” Brendon said.  “I can’t do a full one, just pieces.” 

 

“Anything’s cool,” Jon replied.  “And, like, you don’t have to.  I’m just curious.” 

 

Brendon shifted again, holding his breath, and then nodded.  “Okay,” he murmured.  “Okay, but it’s nothing special.”  He closed his eyes a moment, and then there was a shifting under his skin.  Just like that the boy who’d been standing in Jon’s bedroom, fully human passing, had ears dark enough to match his hair color and a long, fluffy tail adhered to his body. 

 

He looked at Jon nervously, ears laying back, and chewed his lip.  His tail flicked up and he caught it in both hands, wringing it gently.  Jon couldn’t help but gape at him. 

 

“Wow…” he whispered. “You… Brendon, that’s amazing.”  Brendon kept up petting his tail, hands quick and nervous, shaking slightly.  His ears rotated and pointed up.  It was weird to see him with wolf ears instead of human ones. 

 

“You think so?” he asked.  “It’s not great.  I’ve never been good at it.  That’s why my price has always been so low, even before the demerits on my record, I….”

 

“You look great,” Jon told him.  “If it’s more comfortable, to be that way.  Like, you can stay like that if you want.  No one will mind.” 

  
Brendon kept his tail cradled close and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed.  Jon’s too-big jeans were falling down his skinny hips, but they gave enough room for Brendon’s tail to be free, so maybe the kid didn’t mind.  “Okay,” he whispered, relaxing ever so slightly, and then, “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that I just pulled out of my ass, but I also kind of adore it? Like this might be added on to the rest of my side projects.... There might be more of this, with, yknow, some actual explanation for what's going on? We'll see.


End file.
